


In Fine

by Inkribbon796



Category: Crankgameplays fandom, Markiplier fandom - Fandom, Unus Annus - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Memento mori, Unus Annus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27555577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkribbon796/pseuds/Inkribbon796
Summary: The Host retrieves an interesting artifact.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	In Fine

**Author's Note:**

> In memory of Unus Annus. Latin for “at the end”. I have lots of feels about Unus Annus, and so I have this as a way of dealing with those feels. While this isn’t part of my Superhero AU the hourglass will always be on the Host’s desk regardless of the universe the stories are set, as my constant memorial to that cursed, wonderful channel.

Just as everything has a beginning, it also has an end.

The Host was walking down a maze of hallways, doors, and interior windows. Each was a door to a memory, a snapshot in time. All of them were slowly turning gray.

They would not completely go away but the memory of these events would start breaking down, taking hallways and entrances with them. And the Host did not want to take the chance of not being able to escape afterward.

The Host was winding his way through the maze, following trails of fragmented aura, and echoing laughing and chortles that bounced off the walls. However he was not confused or deterred he finally made it to a large double door with a spiraling, almost hypnotic swirl.

Throwing open the door, the Host saw that the room was almost barren. Inside the room, white walls with a black floor and ceiling, there was an hourglass that was on a gyroscope of some sort so it was constantly tethering up and down. The black and white sand never mixing into grey. The white sand always trying to get into the bottom, the black trying to get to the other side, and gravity trying to pull them back into the center.

“There you are,” the Host smiled as he walked over and had to use his aura to hold it, since it didn’t want to leave or be moved.

“Do not worry, the memory is all that will remain,” the Host promised. “Just like you wanted.”

The Host began walking out, the hourglass calmed down but still very ornery. It was testy and would not be complacent for long. Memories greying out or washing out white.

The sand kept turning until finally the Host exited the space and hourglass stopped and the white sand fell to the bottom and black sand held up at the top. The spinning halted and the sand held deceptively still on its sides.

With near silence the Host walked over to his desk and sat the hourglass onto the corner of the table and almost bone like protrusions curled around the hourglass. It kept the object from being taken or even touched. Finally the hourglass seemed to calm down, sure it was going to be left alone, undisturbed.

Smiling, the Host got back to work. There were new stories to tell, new things to do. Each one would be different, and like their own fingerprint on the world.

Every so often the sand would swirl, but never turning or mixing. It would tremble like the distant aftershocks of water on the surface of a pond.

With one last fond look for it and the stories it had told, the Host smiled at the hourglass. The end of a feather quilled pen tapped to the Host’s mouth.

“Memento mori, my friends,” the Host told the hourglass. “Memento mori.”


End file.
